'its 



Bev, John Francis MeShane 




; } 



Class _Z 



Book- 



TW 



Copyright N^„ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




Rev, John Francis Mc Shane. 



Culleb IDiolets, 



A. colleotio:n^ of 

THE FOE MS 

OF 



REV. JOHN FRANCIS MCSHANE. 



ILLUSTRATED. 



Indianapolis, Ind. 
cue BRi6ICClR€ PR€$$ 

801 North West St. 
1911. 



'\ 



Copyright, 1911, by Rev. John Francis McShane. 



^t,^ 



©CI.A3050G4 



To 
The Fev. DANIEL CURRAN, 
Whose criticisms were words of encourag^ement, 
and whose sug-g-estions were poetic inspirations, 
These humble lines are g-ratefull}^ dedicated. 



CONTENTS. 



A Voice in the Wilderness. 
The City of God. 



First Mass Poems. 

A Mother at the First Mass of her Bo3% . 17 

Sacerdos - Stella Matutina. , . . 22 

Alter Christus 25 

Oratio Sacerdotalis. . . . . . 28 

Pray for your Priests ! , . . » 30 

Courag-e I .82 

LoDelv's the Life of the Priest. . . 33 



Sonnets, 



The Giant-Guards. ..... o7 

Our Lady of Guadalupe ( Mexico ). . .38 
The Lourdes of Ireland ... 31> 



Do com 1)0 r ...... 40 

A Masterpiece of God .... 41 

The Seed 42 

On the Capture of Cronje ... 43 
To the Isle of the Shamrock . . - 44 

Kcce Sacerdos Mag-nus ... 45 

Time ..... 46 

On the Execution of McKinly's Assassin 47 

Thought's Session . . , 48 



Odes. 

Jubilee Ode . . . . .^R 

Ode on St. Catherine's Day . . 57 

Ode on Our Rector's Day . . . 63 

Ode on Thanksg-iving- Day . . fi6 

To a Timepiece . . . .60 

To the Heights of Clifty - - 70 

To Lourdes - - - . 71 

A Farewell to Erin - - - 73 



Miscellaneous Poems. 

The Last Communion of St. Jerome - 79 

Post Peccatum Anima - - - 87 

Clifiy - - 91 



My "Weeping- Peter". - - . 9^ 

The Nearest, Dearest Souls - - 99 

l^^am<i 102 

O What Will the Last Picture be? - 103 

A Victor IQ7 

A Song- of Old Sing- Sing- - - - 108 

Song- of a Lover HO 

The Sea HI 

A Prodig-al - - - - - - i]3 

My First Communion of long- ago - 114 

The Storm - 11(^ 

Oratio Cordis II7 

My Angel-Friend - - - - - ii,s 

Play Ball 120 

A Little Altar Boy - . . . 121 

Happy Land - - . - i2A 

The De Profundis Bell - - - 126 

My Bouquet - - - - 12" 

Reminiscence ---.__ 129 

A Letter from Mother . . _ . 130 

My Mother Kind and True - . - 132 

Random Thoug-hts 136 

With the Christus, Anton Lang- - - 139 

A Begg-ar-Soul - - - - 140 

A Blessing- - - - _ . i4\ 

The Lesson - .... 142 

The Laborer - - - - I44 



Requioscaiit In Pace . . . H(> 

Our L^ncrowned Hero . . . 148 

The Man Who Does . . . 150 

ISIarc Mortuum 152 

Comrades ...... 15> 

la Memoriam ...... 155 

Ad Finem . 156. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

She heard that message in her chapel prayer liv , 

The Giant-Guards 36 V 

Christ's Nativity 52 

St. Catherine - - - -- - 59 v 

The Last Communion of St. Jerome - 78' 

The Last Judgment . ^ ^ ^ 105 

My Angel-Friend 11» 1/ 

With the Christus - - - - 138. V 



A VOICE IN thp: wilderness. 



A Proem. 



My voice is, I know, uncultured, 

My words, measures, faulty too; 

But O ! sing- I must, to fulfil God's trust, 
The g-ood left for me to do. 



I sinjof as the murmVing- river. 

That winds to the nearing sea; 

Of the fading- shore, of the thing's no more, 
Tile ocean, - eternitv. 



I sing- Hs the v^ag-rant breezes. 

That warning-s in meanings spell; 

For the rich and poor, - no distinction, surel 
For all who will listen well. 



1 sing- as the warbling- birdling-s 

That open the glorious day, 
With their "Matins, Lauds," - while hig-h heaven 
applauds, - 

With "Compline" conclude their lay. 



I sing- as the sainted Baptist, 

On far, old Jordanic shore, 
Of the Lamb of God, of the ways He trod, 

To thank Him, His aid implore ! 



THE CITY OF GOD. 



This poem, while originally written as a tribute 
of affection and gratitude to an old teacher of boy- 
hood days, Sister , of St. Marys, Vigo Co. Ind., 

is, really, intended to be an "appreciation" of our 
silent armies of nuns moving daily and nightly on the 
battle-fields of the world, rocking the cradles of the 
orphans and the abandoned, nursing the sick and the 
dying, cheering the outcast and the fallen, and mak- 
ing old age a blessing, and death a triumph. 

These are the armies invincible, the heroines who 
h^ve gained for religion and God more victories than 
the world can know. Bigotry and hatred, - all the 
diabolical forces of ihe world of yesterday and to-day 
and to-morrow, that have proudly rushed to victory 
on many a battle-field, are forced to bow and to ac- 
knowledge defeat in the conflict with these child-like^ 
charitable, self-sacrificing, truehearted women. 

And so great is their influence among those who 
are "of the household of the faith" that the scholarly 
and saintly Bishop J. L Spalding did not hesitate to 



say: "In thousands of parishes the lig^ht of Catholic 
truth and love shines, from the convent, with a more 
pervasive and unremitting- glow than from the pulpit." 
These heroines in the cause of humanity, these 
priestesses of the Most Hig-h, home in "The City of 
God", that City that towers up like a g-iant on the hills 
eternal, that City that can not be hid. 

With God their Lover and their Loved, their King: 
and their All, they bear witness to His divinity and 
power. Here, in His own city, having- nothing they 
have all things; in the midst of infirmity they are 
strong-; in the face of death they rejoice; crushed with 
sorrow, they are glad; lonely, their pure, immortal 
thoughts and the angels keep them company; for- 
gotten by the world, they have their names written 
in the Book of Life, - on the Heart of Jesus never to 
be eifaced from it. 

Such, in brief, is the City of God, -and such one 
of the potent forces that defend its eternal portals. 




THE CITY OF GOD. 

"My Beloved is gone down into His garden . . . 
gather lilies." — Canticle of Canticles, VI, 1. 



to 



I know a city of the virgin woods, 

Our Mother Mary's own; 
I know a city of celestial goods, 

With God upon her throne. 
I know where doves unnoticed love to nest, - 
In boughs of hidden trees, secure and blest, 
To coo in love, and languish deep in rest. 

Commune with God alone. 



I know where other doves of God on high, 

As lowly, humble, meek. 
As weary of this busy world do fly, 

And rest and quiet seek; 
Do nest on poverty and chastity, 
Obedience, — Perfection's God-like three, 



•i 



The straws the world condemns and scorns to see, 
And help itself so weak. 



Thou art so lonely, Lord. Yes, scorned as dead ! ' 

The world ne'er sees nor hears ! 
'Twas always so I No wonder Thou didst shed 

Gethsemani's blood-tears! 
But here within Thy city Thou art known ! 
And virgin choir, Thy choice one, hymns Thy throne* ( 
And angels join, and prayerful organs groan I 

Their never -ceasing cheers I 



Behold the Providence of God that walls 

This city holy, grand: 
And fortifies against the hellish thralls 

That here would seek command ! 
His voice alone invites the poor and great: 
His hand alone unlocks the massy gate: 
He only veils and heirs to His estate 

In blest, eternal land 1 



Behold the doves that neither sow nor reap. 
Nor gather for this earth 1 



And yet, your Father them doth ever k^cp, 
And call His own from birth. 

Consider how this city's lilies grow. 

They labor not, nor spin: transplanted so, 

And watered, tended, here they only know 
Of real, eternal worth. 



And yet I say, that Solomon the wise, - 

The g-reatest Fame decrees, - 
With all the glory 'neath eternal skies, 

Was ne'er arrayed as these I 
Behold their raiment of the loom untold: 
Their bodies — God's own temple purest gold 
The chalice of the lily but to hold 

The pure of purities ! 



Ah ! list to swish of garments stealing by, 

And see the nunful air, — 
The grace of movement, beauties all that lie 

Not dead, but buried there. 
And hear the rattle of the beads she wears. 
And smell the perfume of her incense pray'rs, 
And see Simonic angels on the airs. 

Her Calv'ry's cross to bear I 



Just bow, and beg her pray'rs as beggars do, 

For she hath wealth to share: 
Aud note her senses mortified, too true, 

All human-kind can bear: — 
With ancient cowl her sinless eyes and ears; 
With hair -cloth garb her feeling chaste, with tears 
And beggar- bread her taste, with fetid fears 

Her smell, as incense fair. 



Behold those eyes that mirror so the soul, 

All child -like, prayerful, pure; 
And list to lips that word so well the goal, — 

'I'o GOD, — so surely sure I 
And feel the throbbings of those hearts at prayer; 
And see the strict austerities they wear ; 
And lift the cross that queenly shoulders bear; 

And know what those endure ! 



Oh, ft el the fire that warms such noble hearts; 

''I'hat burns to ashen white 
'J'heir carnal, olden selves, that ne'er departs, 

Hut sleeps in ember light. 
Behold the martyred frame that once was strong; 
'J' he jMayer-worn tongue, the voice tired out with song 
'i he heart -ticks dulled in vigils kept so long 

In sacrificial night! 



But 'twas not always thus; she once was young, 

And talented and fair; 
Could well have graced a throne, or home among* 

The fairest anywhere. 
And Satan bore her in a lonely hour 
To mountain - tops and showed her all his power, 
And promised all on her his queen to shower 

li she 'd adore him there. 



The world unto the flowerings maid was sweet 

In hopes, in loves, in dreams; 
Alas , a g-ilded siren snare to greet: 

Indeed not what it seems. 
Endangered thus her Spouse- King- whispered low: 
''Arise, my love, my beautiful, and go 
Unto my city where we'll home below, 

Till heaven's glory beams I" 



Her Lover's call, — His love - dove sent to bring 

To her a lover's dole; 
To sing the sweetest song that e'er can ring 

Within a maiden's soul; 
To tell His story, - of His bioundless love, 
The lonely hour when guileless as the dove 
He died for her, and of their home above. 

The one. — the only goal, 



He modelled her unto our faJlen race 

An ang-el's life to share; 
He soug-ht His richest treasure - store of grace 

For g-ems for her to wear; 
He went beyond the sun to ligrht her eyes, 
Through winds to speech her tongue, from worldly wie« 
To teach her, o'er the Arab incense skies 

To have her breathe all fair. 



He loved her far above all beauty, health, . 

And earth's and sea's full store, 
Preferred her to all king^doms, thrones, the wealth 

That dazzles o'er and o'er; 
Compared her not to any precious stone; 

He scorned them worthless, — her and alone, 
He chose to be His dear, His loving^ own, 
I'or time, forevermore. 



She heal d that message in her chape) praj'er, 

I>ike Mary fairest one, 
And, bowings 'midst the call from heaven there. 

She prayed: *'Thy Will be done!** 
She knew those words, their sacrificial scope; 
She said farewell to earth, and earthly hope; 
She passed the grate that God alone can ope, — • 

l\<^r life's work well begun. 




She heard that message in her chapel prayer, 

Like Mary fairest one, 
And, bowing- 'midst the call from heaven there. 

She prayed: "Thy will be donel" 



O, love divine is active, mig-hty, fair, 

Is g^rateful, g-enerous, true: 
It yearns, it runs, it climbs, it tames ne'er. 

Nor fails to dare and do. 
She g-ave her Lover all she had, — her heart, 
Her mind, her will, her service, ev'ry art, 
For she like Mary chose the better part, 

And better Lover too. 



Like Noah's dove she flew with palm of peace 

To dove -cot long her pride; 
For dove-like, pure, she nowhere found surcease 

Of carrion sin outside. 
Her breath was censer -smoke, her eyes the ligfht 
That guards the Tabernacle, love her mite. 
Her heart was Mary's bleedings at the sight 

Of Jesus crucified. 



She fed among her sister lilies there, 

She was her Love's bouquet, 
And wasted not her sweetness on the air, 

But treasured for the day 
She'd grace the throne of Him her Lover - King, 
And sing the songs that virgins only sing, 
Attend the Lamb on love's untiring wing, 

In love's eternal wav. 



She's sleeping now within the church-yard lone, 

Where virgin dusts repose, 
Where flowers incense, winds in requiem moan 

The veiled in bridal clothes. 
A virgin wise, with lamp and oil she waits 
To pass like Christ through resurrection gates, 
Unto espousals in her Love's estates, 

That loving love but knows. 



FIEST I^ASS 



A MOTHER AT THE FIRST MASS 
OF HER BOY. 



"Now thou dost dismiss thy servant, O Lord, according 
to thy word in. peace; Because my eyes have seen thy sal- 
vation." - Luke, II, 29, 30. 



It was the holiest hour that man can know, — 
The hour for Holy Mass. It seemed as though 
This Sunday's holiest hour seemed holier still, 
With holier thoughts and blessings seemed to thrill. 
The parish church a festive vesture wore; 
The altars blazed as ne'er they'd blazed before; 
Sweet flowers perfumed the air; the organ rang 
With heavenly, festive strains; the choir sang 
As angel choirs must sing. 



'Twas all so fair: 

But naught to one, - a mother kneeling there. 

The cynosure of happy, blessing eyes, 

Not only there but even of the skies, 

17 



She saw and heard them not: her soul was set 
Upon the new-born priest so holy, wet 
With consecrating- oil, - her onl}' joy; 
For 'twas the First Mass of her darlin*^ boy. 



The music swelled; the altar seemed more fair; 
And many more winged ang-els tarried there. 
The Mass advanced, and still the mother knelt 
In matchless sculpture with the joy she felt: 
When suddenly the voice she knew so welK 
Intoned the "Gloria!" What tongue can tell? 
What artist paint? What sculptor carve? What power 
Can show that mother in her crowning- hour? 



Poor nature weakened, not from weight of years, 
But other causes; pent up, mother's tears 
Then flooded full her eyes, as oft before, - 
And for that very boy in days of yore; 
Her quivering lips lisped something angels heard; 
Her body, with the holiest rapture stirred. 
Would fain unto the holy altar fly, 

And clasp her boy,- caress him, bless him, cry! 

18 



And there were others there who'd do the same, 
Who knew him, loved him, blessed his very name. 
The olden patriarchs who saw him grow 
From server at the altar-steps below. 
Unto the altar's sacrificial stone; 
The school-mates, too, who knew him as the lone, 
Bright, bashful, saintly boy at school; the sweet, 
Dear children who had seen their parents greet 
Their new-born priest, and tell with smiles and tears 
The wondrous story of his priestly years. 



The scene was heavenly fair, beyond compare,- 
Almost too great for mother's heart to bear 
Without the gush of tears, the soulful calm 
That follows after uttered words, the balm 
Of tried and trusted friends. 



The mother quailed 
Beneath the joy, - but for a moment failed 
To bear up motherly, then Nature brought 
The very solace that her burden sought — 

The fountains of her soul were loosed, and tears 

Gushed forth in torrents;'round her friends and dears 

19 



Encourag-ed by their look and word and prayer. 
Then, lisped in whispers on that holy air, 
Broke forth, in burning- eloquence of joy, 
That mothers heart-ode to her priested boy: - 



"My boyi my boyi my darling- boy a priest! 
And offering- up the Sacrificial FeastI 
Now, now, O God, thou canst dismiss my soul I 
I've realized m\^ hopes! I've reached the goal! 



" 'Twas here they broug-ht you when a babe so fair 
To be baptized, and to be made an heir 
To hig-hest heaven: at the christ'ning- feast 
We offered you to God to be a priest. 



" 'Twas here I brought you when a little boy. 
And watched you pray, and dreamed my crowning joy 
To see you here say Mass, receive from you 
My Eucharistic God, your blessing too! 



" 'Twas here you loved to serve at Mass and pray ! 

20 



" 'Tvvas here your happy First Communion day! 
'Twas here the secrets of your heart you poured 
Unto the priest, and here your God adored. 



" 'Tvvas here vacation's restful days were spent, 
With you exemplar, prayerful, penitent. 
'Twas here you fortified your restless soul; 
O'er world and flesh, and devil gained control. 



"And now, my boy! my darling- boy a priest! 
And offering up the Sacrificial Feast ! 
Now, now, O God, thou canst dismiss my soul I 
IVe realized my hopes ! I've reached the goal!" 



21 



SACERDOS — STELLA MATUTINA. 



"And the light ghineth in darkness, and the darkness 
did not comprend it." — John, 1,5. 



When in beauty the star of the morn mounts the skies 

In hope, life and joy earth's athrill 
In seeing- the sun soon in glory shall rise. 

Another day's hope to fulfill. 
Just so is the umbrag-e in which now we stand 

As we g-aze on the star of our morn, 
That ushers the sunlight of Grace in the land, 

The star that of heaven was born. 



All his majesty's bathed in a Thabor's own light, 
The ligfht that our Jesus there wore, 

And willed to His Levites as armor in fig-ht 
With host from a hell's darkened shore. 



Behold him in splendor, in might, and in love; 

And behold him the light of the earth ! 
With wealth of perfection from store-house above, 

In vows that our Jesus g-ave birth. 



Blessed POVERTY - Jesus the Master was poor, 

Despised as a worm of the ground: 
Exemplar He willed that no gold should allure 

Successors on mission profound: 
That they should forsake "Living waters and make 

Them the cisterns that no water hold;" 
That, poor in their spirit, of wealth they should take 

Not measured by silver or gold. 



And of CHASTITY - garment eternal, so white, 
That Jesus with sweetness adorns. 

That fetters the spirit of flesh and its might. 
And lightens a life's crown of thorns; 

The garb of physician who heals Flesh's sting, 
And who medicates passions and woes. 

It tunes to the song only virgins can sing, 

Attending the Lamb where He goes. 
23 



Of OBEDIENCE - "E'en to the death of the cross 

A Jesus his Father obeyed." 
Sweet virtue it reckons not riches nor loss, 

It ne'er is abashed nor afraid; 
Its food is the will of the Saviour above, 

All His work on this earth to complete; 
Each burden of duty it kisses in love, 

And finds it so cheering- and sweet. 

Behold, then, the g^reat priest,- our morn's star aglow! 

Dispensing- a Lig-ht's rays of g-race. 
The loved one of heaven, a Christ here below, 

Renewing- the earth's sinful face. 
Like star of the Magi he g-uides pilgrims wise. 

And he shows where Salvation is laid: 
Then sinks into depths of the Sun that shall rise. 

In vesture of justice arrayed. 



24 



ALTER CHRISTUS. 



For Christ we are amb:isgador§, Gcd as it were 
exhorting by us." -II Cor. V,20. 



"Let us praise the ones disting-uished!'* 
Sounds the world's rewarding voice. 

If we honor earth's beloved, 

How much more a heaven's choice? 
Thus, the praise, the loving- homag-e, 

That this festal day we pay 
To the heaven-born, young" Levite 

Thrilling- in his virtues' sway. 

ALTER CHRISTUSI sweet your odor 
Of the sweetness ang-els know; 

Angels only rightly fame youl 

We your Christ-like power would show 

While your prayerful lips are purpled 
In your First Mass, hallowed kiss: 
25 



Iq the Blood that purpled Calv'r}^ 
And reoped our home of bliss. 



PRIEST OF god: the lig-ht of nations, 

In a Sin's dark realm of woe. 
You're the sun that liufhts, enlivens; 

You're the moon that shows the foe! 
And a lig-ht-house on a mountain 

You're the g-uide to pilg-rims sore, 
Whom you welcome, lave and nourish 

In the Eucharistic store. 



CASSOCKED SOLDIER! of the army 
Bearing" arms of prayer and love. 

Now your youngs heart's fired with fervor 
On your mission from above. 

Many battles you will enter 

'Gainst the countless host from hell. 
But remember, Christ hath conquered, 

And His powers within you dwell! 



VASE OF GOD! wherein your virtues 

26 



Wreathe a sweet bouquet of flowers, 
Roses, violets and others 

Over which the lily towers. 
May the odor of their sweetness, 

That so fills the air to-day, 
Sweeter grow to those you shepherd 

Up our life's steep, alpine way! 



27 



ORATIO SACERDOTALIS. 



"Who is weak, and I am not weak? who is scandal' 
ized, and I do not burn?" — II Cor., XI, 29, 



I ask not for honor. 

Nor beaut3% nor fame; 
Nor eloquence, wisdom, 
Nor fleet-footed namel 
But one prayer I pray to my Maker each day 
Just to make me a good, good priesti 



For this was I born, 

For this live and die, - 
To plant, and to water 

Self conquer, and sigh. 
But Thou knowest, Lord, all this work is so hard 
So, do keep me a good, good priest I 
28 



A priest tried and faithful: 

A model, a guide: 
The light for my people, 

Their joy and their pride. 
Then, do with me, God, as Thou wilt with Thy rod- 

But reward me a good, good priest! 



29 



PRAY FOR YOUR PRIESTS ! 



"We are persecuted, and we suffer it; we are slandered, 

and we entreat; we are made as the refuse of this world, 

the offscouring of all even until now," I Cor., IV, 12,13. 



"List to an olden priest^s story : - 
Wish you your priests God-like glory? 
Ah ! there's life's battle-field gory ! - 
Pray for your priests ! 



"Priests' lives so often are dreary, 
Priests' hearts so often are weary, 
Priests' eyes so often are teary, - 
Pray for your priests ! 



"Danger 'mong friends e'en is lurking. 
Serpent tongues always are working, 
Faithless souls duties are shirking, - 
Pray for your priests ! 
30 



"Their lives for you they are sp'ending: 
All your wants Christ-like attending-: 
Your souls to God e'er commending - 
Pray for your priests ! 



"List to an olden priest's story : - 
Crown priests with prayers - heaven's glory I 
Dead on life's battle-field gory, - 
Pray for your priests !" 



31 



C OUR AGE ! 



Our frail selves must like David fight, 

Nor cower to beg^in, 
With slinj^ of prayer, - stone God's own mig^ht, 

Ag-ainst the giant, SIN I 



32 



LONKLY'S TIIK LIFE OF THE PKIEST. 

Lines to a Seminarian who labored under some 
false impressions as to the life of a priest. 

"For God with His holy angels will draw uigli to 
him, who withdraws himself from his acquaintance and 
friends," — Thomas A Kempis, 

Lonely's the life of the priest, my dear! 

Always alone with God: 
With his ang-el-g-uide walking-, side by side, 

Paths that Our Saviour trod. 
A God made it so for His priests, you know» 

Warring^ with satan's brood; 
For the g-reat deeds done, and the vict'ries won, 

Arc born but in solitude. 

Lonely a-watching- on Israel's tower; 

Never oif duty there: 
While the g-reat world sleeps, he his vig-il keeps; 

Ordered to do and dare. 
Alone with his prayers, his thoug-hts and his cares ■ 



Company enoug^h we know; 
All else but impedes all his Cbrist-like deeds, 
Conspires with the restless foe! 



Lyonely a-g-uardin^ by nigfht and day, 

Viewing- the flow of life, 
With its squandered time, with its gods and crime, 

Planning- to curb the strife. 
Diffusing^ the Light, absolving contrite. 

Cheering both living, dead. 
E'er he waits alone with his prayer and moan. 

Till God hath his "Well done!" said. 



"Watch ye, and pray!" List! the Master's voice, 

Back from Gethsemane, 
In His loneliest hour, in a foeman's power, - 

Bleeding for you and me! 
A God made it so for His priests, you know. 

Warring the same old brood: 
For the great deeds done, and the vict'ries won, 

Are born but in solitude. 



84. 



SOITITETS. 



THE GIANT -GUARDS. 
Written after seeing- the Pyramids and the Sphinx. 

Pause, traveller pause! You tread most ancient sand 
The dust of primal empire so renowned 
For earliest culture, and in science crowned. 
And view o'erawed the pyramids that stand 
As g-iant-g-uards of centuries, deathless, grand, — 
The height of wonders! Enter, read around 
The hieroglyphics: see the Pharaohs bound 
In mummy sleep, who seem to haunt the land. 

Approach the Sphinx! She's silent as of old. 

'Tis hist'ry only tells her rise and fall, - 

Her ancient g^lor3^ pride and world-wide sway. 

Upon her brow rest centuries untold. 

"I was ! and am ! and shall be !" This is all 

Her dustful, mystic presence tells to-day. 



o7 



OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE. 



Written after seeing the miraculous picture of 
Our Lady, at Guadalupe, Mexico, 



'Tis the Immaculate Conception! yes, 

Of eagle-soaring- John; with moon and sun, 

The stars, the serpent crushed,- ihe picture done 

With hands and paint we can not even guess. 

Upon the Indian's "tilma." All confess 

It is a living miracle; and none 

Deny its power - through her the Spotless One - 

Old, Mary-loving Mexico to bless. 



It is the master-piece above all art: 
A photo sent by Mary, - yes, her own ! 
Perhaps her dearest, which we must suppose ! 
It speaks, it thrills, but can not show her heart 
Her heart Immaculate I 'Twill but be shown 
In heaven, beyond our pilgrim joys and woes. 

3^ 



THE LOURDES OF IRELAND. 



Written after a visit to the chapel of the apparition 
of Our Lady, at Knock, Co. Mayo, Ireland. 



The French, the Germans, Mexicans and more, 
Have been by God's own mother blest, consoled 
With apparitions. Why — Ah, Faith is bold! — 
Should she not visit Ireland's holy shore? 
To bless and cheer the Irish souls that swore 
Eternal fealty to her of old; 

Who prized her, yes, o'er honor, fame and gold, 
And died for her, — to heaven her dear Name bore ! 

She came to Knock I More kind than e'er before, 
She brought the Lamb, St, Joseph and St. John, 
To likewise bless the Irish pure and true. 
Since then unto that white-washed chapel door. 
There flock the lame, the blind, the sick and wan; 
Convinced what heaven's and Ireland's Queen will do. 

39 



DECEMBER. 



Upoa creation's vasty palimpsest, - 

The face of wasteful earth, is sad death-bed 

Of spring-'s all~green, by fleeting- summer led 

To death as sacrifice. On withered breast 

Of mournful earth play winds, in sad unrest, 

Throug-h leafless tree unchecked, tune winter's dread 

Loud moan, while nature wraps about the dead 

A shroud in purity's sweet reflex drest. 



Now are the days when Death reigns over all 
From filching- autumn's siege of teeming- earth. 
The season meet to wield: "All things must die,' 
Too truthful words I Soon wintry time shall call 
To death life's reig-n of good or evil worth, 
For grea,t eternity's hid bliss or sigh. 



40 



A MASTERPIECE OF GOD. 
Written after a visit to Mammoth Cave, Ky. 

In reverent wonder, bowed in speechless thought, 
I've toured the cave they ri<,^htly "Mammoth" calL 
I felt eternal darkness like a pall; 
I marvelled at that g-iant spninx enfraug-ht 
With silent histVy, at the magic wrought 
By centuries' waters in their gush and fall^ 
At sightless fish, the Echo River, - all 
The mammoth myst'ries, saints have solved and 
taught, 

I found God everywhere, -all-powerful, wise - 

In catacombish cells, in voices sweet, 

In haunting depths, in pyramidic piks, 

Stalagmites and stalactites, - ev'ry si^e; 

And knelt adoringly beneath His feet, 

In this His Hand's own templed, altared aisles- 



THE SEED. 



In these Oppression's cold and wintry years, 
Within the depths of Erin's hungry soil, ^ 
A mig-hty seed lies. Planted by the toil 
Of blessed Patrick, watered by his tears. 
And vitalized by prayer his God still hears, — 
That hell, nor earth, nor aught, shall e'er despoil 
Dear Ireland of the Faith - the God-spilt oil 
On her surrounding- sea of pain and fears. 



O blessed seed, a nation yet to g-row ! 

The spring- must follow winter, and must break 

Oppression's wintry fetters, call in time 

The flowers of Freedom, birds that only know 

The song- Prosperity. O seed, awake ! 

OKI Ireland green ! and Faith and Freedom rhyme ! 



ON THE CAPTURE OF CRONJE. 



When thou hadst numbered in the ravage great 
Upon the reeky veldt, a nation's wail 
Bore Death's prophetic voice. War's fiery gale 
Reversed, stormed Afric's trembling, infant state. 
Ah, hapless day.' the well remembered date 
Of old Majuba's fight, when hill and dale 
With Boer vict'ry rang, when Freedom's veil 
Enshrouded heroes, who it now await. 



AH peace to thee, good hero doomed to bear 
The chains that victors wield upon the drear 
Sepulchral vaults on St. Helena's coast. 
Frustrated, bleeding, brave, and loyal e'er, 
Thou hast thus fallen, - humbled England's cheer, 
And gifted Roberts' one triumphant boast. 



TO THE ISLE OF THE SHAMROCK. 



In Thraldom's umbrage hast thou nursed the soul 
Inflamed with War's own fire and thund'ring- roar, 
The soul of eloquence, the versed in lore 
Of poetry and song-, for life's true g-oal 
Athirst, the soul that from a heaven stole 
The truths thou hast inhaled from days of yore. 
How g-rand thy g-lory voiced on ev'ry shore, 
With shame upon the Lion's brute control ! 



Sweet captive queen! we bless thy loving- breast 
That reared our parents on the truths divine: 
We cheer thy faltering- step of grief, with mien 
Of silvered head. Why hang-s thy harp at rest 
When nations in thy freedom-song- combine 
In hope with exiled sons in ribboned green? 



ECCE SACERDOS MAGNUS. 
Written oq the Silver Jubilee of our beloved Pastor, 

Behold the g-reat priest who hath heaven increased 
For five and twenty years! Who hath been found 
E'er just and true; whose praises angels sound 
With us this day. "Go preach to e'en the least! 
Forg-ive! Prepare the sacrificial feast 
Commemorating me!" What words profound! 
And uttered by God to the Levite crowned 
His "Alter Christus", and our saintly priest! 

For five and twenty years! How much love shown 
In charity, in prayer for straying sheep: 
The children leading: binding heart's to be 
Two in one flesh; and hastening to your own 
On Death's sad pallet, 'round which you too weep. 
Exemplar grand, all hail, all praise to thee.' 



TIME. 



As flowing- streams tend towards the mighty deep, 

But to be lost in ocean's boundless sway, 

So do the wasteful 3'ears e'e steal away 

Into the past, forever there to sleep; 

Both from nativity do forward creep 

Near to their end; e'er to g-rim death a prey, 

Each liveth still the consort of Decay 

And Chang-e, whose deeds all thing^s recorded keep. 



How swift, how strang-e is time! Born but to be 
The reg^istrar, with speed too swift for wing-s, 
To mark mutations, yet it passes by. 
Bestowing- life, consigning- to the sea 
Of death. Whilst gfiving- end to earthly thing's 
It marks its own, for ev'ry thing- must die. 



ON THE EXECUTION OF PRESIDENT 
McKINLEY^S ASSASSIN. 



He died the death! The Judas hand that threw 

A world in tears, that penned for history 

Another tale of blood-faced anarchy, 

Returns to shameful dust, — the traitor's due! 

In David's g"rief Columbia cries anew; 

"My son, my wicked son' God keep from me! 

All such as he!" then turns in misery 

Unto her martyr's tomb, - her loved and true. 



The Will to which our Hero bowed his own 
Guides e'er our Ark upon storm-delug-ed sea, 
Thoug-h brood of hell may bubble-like appear, 
And crack and perish with unpitied groan. 
O earth's blest Shepherd g-uard thy flock! and free 
A world from sheep-clad wolves I our mourning- cheer! 



THOUGHT'S SESSION. 



My thoug-hts once burnitshed with a pensive eye, 

The mirror of the years with death enrolled, 

And grazed anew on memories that strolled 

Into the session. Fraiig-ht with woeful sig-h, 

Some sadness broug-ht, while others thrilled with cry 

Of peace and joy; in fire of passion bold 

A warning" others brought. What tales they told, 

These tenants of the sou] that can not die. 



The session lulled until in tattered clothes 
A form unnoticed rose and sadly sig-hed: 
"I hungry, naked was — you g^ave no dole; 
I was in prison, sick — you mocked m^^ wocsl 
Then starting- forth he mourned and loudly cried 
"Ah, put apparel on your naked soul!" 



ODES. 




When Peace and Joy in renovated power 
Unbosomed anthems on the night 
Of Christ's nativity a lig-ht 
Shone liroiii^h tlie darkness undiscerned, unknown. 



JUBILEE ODE. 



As read at the Golden Jubilee of Mt. St. Mary's of 
the West, Cincinnati, Ohio, October 22, 1901. 



"He was not the light, but was to giT« 
testimony of the light." — John, I, 8. 



On your dear Mount let glad "Te Deums" ring, 
Ye who lead up life's Alps, and safety bring 

By staff of grace and duty ! 
Add to the wreath, which angels to God pay. 
Of Mt. St. Mary's flowers in vernal day. 
In summer's warmth, in autumn's seedful sway. 
In plenitude of beauty I 



When Peace and Joy in renovated power 
Unbosomed anthems on the night 



Of Christ's nativity a light 
Shone throug-h the darkness undiscerned, unknown. 
Lone segment of the circlet creeds, 
A godless sapience, that but breeds 
A soul -numbed race, in stifled groan 
Wan Error toiled the slave of grim Despair, 
And long espoused to bravcling Discontent 
She stirred War's killing flame — Rebellion, pent 
In flaxen chains, stalked wild, exhaled the air 
That charmed War's game of blood, amid Death's 
radiant glare. 



"Glory to God on high I and peace" on earth ! " 
Sang angels tuned to heavenly tones, 
That thrilled a world, and shook Sin's thrones 
Well housed in ken of hell's auroral lights. 
Awoke omniscients godless, mad 
In long imprisoned thought of sad. 
Primeval Cause, effects of untraced birth. 
And broke medicinal, Socratic vial — 
Compounded cure for Nature's growing ills. 
Such voices made Truth clear, and Faith, that fills 
Minds tenanted by Thought, to rule in stvle 
Magnetic o'er the world luxuriate in guile. 



That Lig-ht broug-ht peace unto this war-cursed 
sphere, 
Where Sin hath sway, and gilds the way 
Wide-built the lost throng to convey 
To realms of darkness. From the womb of Faith 
Hope rose, enchantress pointing- high 
To Him our All — to Whom we sigh 
To cross the abyss of death, and, void of fear, 
To don life's garments in eternal day. 
'Tis now the breath of hope and joy and peace, 
Borne from the heavenly shores, that doth increase 
And sanctify the golden crown we lay 
Upon Saint Mary's noble, sainted brow this day. 



Tbe crown well earned through fifty years of toil^ 
Amid sad checkerings of the flame 
Of trials borne in heavenly fame. 
Well hath she planted; now doth proudly reap 
In grand fruition through the power 
Of Mary, Virgin, heaven's dower 
To sinful man upon Sin's cultured soil. 
True Wisdom's herald she diffuses e'er 
Brightness of Light eternal, and regains 
To bliss souls worshipping in Error's fanes. 
Through steelless swords, the Christian trinity -- 
Abiding faith, sweet hope and Christ-like charity. 



With ang-els sound the hymn of jubilee, 
Soas of our ''Alma Mater" fair! 
And breathe with her the fervent prayer: 

That seeds of love in her beloved dead 
May ripen into fruit of gold, 
That livinj^ sons the Light may hold, 

Alike her golden, guardian cross on high, 

With seraph-finger aimed unto the sky. 

To us as to the patriarch's tented place 

Come men-clad angels, guests our day to grace; 

Foretelling splendors which God wills to be 
For loving souls in heaven's unending jubilee. 



ODE ON ST. CATHERINE'S DAY, 



As read at a Philosophers' Celebration in honor of 
their patroness, St. Catherine, Cincinnati, Ohio, 
November, 25, 1901. 

"For she is the brightness of eternal light and the 
unspotted mirror of God's majesty, and the image 
of His goodness." - Wisdom, VII, 26. 



In umbrage of the vista angels keep, 

Through which the Sun of Truth so loves to peep. 

With deep thoughts wrestled in this strife of earth 

From sphinx of nature, silenced since Sin's birth, 

What philosophic mind feels not profound. 

And awe-inspiring thoughts that breathe around 

Existences unknown; while as the dew 

Al ev'ning twilight falls the theme too true^- 

A living God, our Origin, — our AT 1 ! 

Here meet the thinkers, all the great and small; 

To think, to premise, to conclude, and greet 



Philosophy enthroned on Wisdom's seat. 

Here ever at her throne of g-ems and gold 

We store our knowledge, - all our minds can hold, 

And here like children at their mother's knee, — 

'J'he best philosophers who long to see 

Why things are so, what life is, why we die ? 

And question till she can not answer why, — 

We have our questions answered, and caressed 

By motherly Philosophy we rest. 

As when the light of day sinks in the west, 
And veil of night proclaims the hour of rest, 
The fretful infant, 'neath its mother's knee, 
Within the pictured volume pores to see 
The painted memVy of ancestral age; 
S), Wisdom's infants turn we Hist'ry's page, 
Once more to greet and to profoundly pore 
O'er n.imes we link to philosophic lore. 
Here portraits glow of old and young and free. 
Of Mimmon's bondmen, Mis'ry's progeny. 
And souls aglow with heaven's eternal flame. 



Among the daughters pictured here by Fame 




Hers was the voice that shook a tyrant's throne, 
That scorned the great power that was not his own; 
Hers was the life a bloody king- required 
To quell the virtues by a God inspired. 



Appears the g^enius, virgin, martyr, fair, 
Beloved St. Catherine, whose celestial care 
Is guard o'er walls of adamantine rock 
Well built by Church's sons to stay the shock, 
And prowess of the frothy, mighty waves 
From sea of Error with its yawning graves. 



When Persecution, twin with Error, reigned, 
And earth with martyred, hallowed blood was stained. 
Hers was the voice that shook a tyrant's throne, 
That scorned the great power that was not his own; 
Hers was the mind that vanquished all the great 
Philosophers within the heathens' state; 
Hers was the life a bloody king required 
To quell the virtues by a God inspired. 



With her burned Wisdom's lamp with glow profound, 
To light a darkened world, and to confound 
Earth's errant sons, by voiceless deeds of love. 
By lab'al gems brought from the realms above. 
By powers by which God's secrets we can see, 
By sayings born for immortality. 



Such was our patroness who made her soul 

Great Learning's temple under God's control. 

' ris not for us to vie in her acclaim, 

Or jewel more her sweet, immortal name. 

'Tis ours to imitate her virtues rare, 

Throughout lile's weary way; by love and prayer 

Tu sanctify our little learning's store, 

And learn to love her and our God the more. 

This is the sacred mite which we would pay 

Our blessed Catherine on this festal day. 



ODE ON OUR RECTOR'S DAY. 



As read at a celebration in honor of our Very Rev. 
Rector, Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct. 24, 1900. 

"Let us praise men of renown, and our fathers in their 
generation. Men ruling over the present people and by 
the strength of wisdom, instructing the people in most 
holy words." — Eccl XLIV, 1-4. 



Once grandly rang the hills of Bethlehem 
With holy strains, by angels hymned in light 
Of God. Our Mount's akin to-nig-ht 
With joyous psalms of praise to you the pride, the gem 
Of priestly souls and men, who now with cheers. 
From love and duty crown you with the bright 
Jewelled diadem you've won in noble fight 
Of thirtv-seveu years. 



Yes, thirty-seven years of toil and love 
You've g-iven to the Master to repeat 
A vow of vernal years replete 
With resolutions time confirms in realms above. 

For thirty-seven years you've walked the way 
Our Saviour leads; and tried within the heat 
Of trials and cares, you're found pure gold 
and sweet — 
The kind that cheers life's da v. 



Adown these years what penitential days 
Beneath the cross, and at the altar dear, 
Commemorating- Christ in fear, 
And holy trembling; with the angels chanting- praise 
To God of might and love. What powers divine! 
To consecrate, forgive, to e'e bring near 
To God immortal souls, and sinners cheer. 
Such, kingly priest, are thinel 



As our dear Father do greet you now, 
Exemplar grand, of all that's just and true. 
Of all the good that man may do; 



As master-miud to whom our foes and scoffers bow; 
As shepherd whom the wolves in terror fear. 
All these 3^011 r noble virtues we proclaim, 
And bless you, Father, — you of saintly fame, 
Our "Alter Christus" herel 



The holy leader of God's Levites young-, 
And fair, by kindness will you each behest 

To be obeyed. Into each breast 
Steals music, which you strike upon life's chords un- 
strung' 
To mundane joys; which ever sw^et and free 
In your soul's love-inspiring- power hath rest. 
"Ad Multos Aunos !" May you e'er be blest! 
May heaven your portion be! 



ODE ON THANKSGIVING DAY. 



''What shall I render to the Lord, far all the things 
that He hath rendered to me?" — Psalms, CXV, 12. 



You ask me why Vm happy, why I pray 

My sweetest prayer on this, Thaoksg^iving- Day I 
You might as well ask why the rivers flow? 
Why shines the sun, and why the winds do blow? 
Why flowers perfume the sky, why carol birds on 
high? 

But list, ril tell you why! 

1 rode the rail-king- on his iron way; 
I saw his wrecks, - the blood, the human prey; 
I felt him tear through mountains, fields and air, 
Through lig-htaud darkness- God but knows 
just where. 
Why did 1 pray and sigh, for death to pass me by? 
Go ask the rail king why! 



I crossed the waters; on their feverish breast 
I rocked a fretful child, and sighed for rest. 
I thrilled with danger, stared the deathful waves, 
And felt the Hand of God alone that saves- 
Why did I raise on high my tearful, fearful eye? 
Go ask the waters whvl 



I climbed the mountains: up through Alpine snow; 
I felt the might of God above, below. 
I heard the mountains, climbing to their Lord, 
Admonish me to try with them so hard. 
Why did I rise and try to climb to God on high? 
Go ask the mountains why! 



I knelt before the Holy Father's feet, 
The central Peter, where the nations meet, 
I saw his throne, - the Faith of all the earth, 
His subjects, - men of evVy land and birth. 
Why did I see him sigh? and hell to conquer try? 
Go ask St. Peter whvl 



I pilgrimaged the laud Our Saviour trod. 



The earthly home and country of our God. 
I felt His blessini^s, warning's, curses, - all 
That saw the vict'ry over Adam's fall. 
Why poured I ev 'ry sigh, where Jesus chose to die? 
Go ask Mount Calvary why! 



So this is why I'm happy, why I pray 
My sweetest prayer on this Thanksgiving: Day- 
For life and health, for all the Master gave, 
For all He promises beyond the grave: 
For nothingness am I, though Jesus priced me high. 
But why? Ask Jesus why I 



TO A TIMK PIECE. 



Hail I registrar, that mark'st, with doleful boat 
Earth's changes all, unmeasured is thy power. 
Iambic measure of poetic feet, 

Thou holdest life, — death's dower. 



Existence strange! Like time wert thou designed 
Out of chaotic depths to mark the rife 
Mutations, to creation's realm confined. 
With time goes out thy life. 



Thy voice articulate, in language weird, 
Breathes speechless secrets, plays on scenes of yore 
Unkindly e'er bears pilgrim man uncheered, 
Unto the unknown shore! 



And ever thus thou brood'st o'er mundane things, 
Unmindful of the days of war and peace, 
Until F>ternity shall ope her wings, 
And Time forever cease! 



TO THE HEIGHTS OF CLJFTY. 



Hail sister to old Rome's Tarpeiau Keck I 

That dares the storms, the floods, e'en earthquake's 

shock. 
You, truly, beauties blend; your woods and dales 
Yield speechless thought, while silence 'round pre- 
vails ! 
Your peaks communing- e'er with heaven's dome. 
Your garland valleys where beasts love to roam, 
Your sweet, ambrosial breeze, sleep-lulling- bowers, 
And ming-led breath of your sweet, blushing- flowers; 
The silver stream adoring- at your feet. 
The mystic song-s of birds so free, so sweet, — 
All, wanton sweetness into man infuse, 
And soothe his breast with all their g-or^eous huts ! 
You are a nurse for the sad, restless soul, 
Wliich tastes with you of Contemplation's dole. 



TO LOURDES. 



Written after a visit to that sacred shrine of Mary. 



''I saw water flowing from the right side of the temple; 
and all to whom that water came were saved." 

— Ordinary of the Maes. 



Farewell, O LourdesI thou throne of Mary's love! 

Thou mij»-htiest Niagara! From above, 

O'er heavenly heights, thy living waters flow, 

To lave, and cure, and nourish all below. 

I came: I saw th\^ place that Mary chose 

Of all this universe of sin and woes. 

I heard the name that Mary loves the best, — 

Immaculate Conception, and I guessed 



The joy supreme that must have filled the heart 
Of Pius IX, who, having- done his part — 
Declared her spotless, fairest — was repaid 
By visits at the cave that Mary made 
To cheer his heavy prison-chains, to show 
Divine Maternity, and have us know 

She was Immaculate Conception. Yes, 

Her name the Pontiff g-ave! I well can g-uess 

The splendor that she wore on visits here. 
I saw thy pile of crutches, — aids that cheer 
Our fallen nature. These I saw, and more! 
And knelt to praise, to thank, and to implore. 



A FAREWELL TO ERIN. 



Farewell, then, my Erin, farewell for awhile! 
Farewell to thy blessings, thy songs and thy smile! 
Farewell to the prayers of thy mountains and hills! 
The sermons of ruins, the hymns of thy rills ! 



I came as a child to his mother so dear: 
How little I knew of thy welcome and cheer! 
A mother in love, thou didst grant me each boon; 
And welcomed me, yes, as thy "Sog-garth aroon!" 



Thy "Soggarth aroon", yes, the first in the land! 
No hero of old saw a triumph so grand! 
The "Soggarth", successor of Patrick of yore. 
Alone thou hast ruler, "Ma vourneen, astore"! 



But, dear, be of g-ood heart, thy faith makes thee wholeJb 
Though tyranny bleed thee, and demons control. 
A God will repay, Who saith: "Veng-eance is Minel" 
And crown thee forever with crown th:it is thine! 



Farewell, then, my Erin, farewell for awhile! 
Farewell to thy blessing-s, thy song^s and thy smile! 
ril pray that thy Faith ma\' e'er conquer thy woes, - 
And dream of thy g-lories that God onh^ knows! 



l^ISCBLLANEOITS 
rOEIAS. 




The Last Communion of St. Jerome. 
— Domeulchino, 



THE LAST COMMUNION OF St. JEROME. 



Written after seeing- Domenicbino's masterpiece. 

"O Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldet enter 
under my roof!" Ordinary of the Mass. 



I saw it several times, - this miracle of art, 
That captivates the eye and thrills the heart; 
This moving- picture leading- on and on, 
O'er very paths the greatest saints have gone. 
'Tis one of Rome's proud masterpieces sealed 
With genius Italy of old could wield. 
'Tis unsurpassed in color, grouping-, thought. 
And general composition, one that taught 
The world perfection's art. 

The scene is laid 
In Bethlehem, where St. Jerome once prayed, 

7y 



And studied, worked and died, and went to God. 
The background's lovliest e'er our painter trod, 
The fruit of years of nature-study, strolls 
Alone with God and nature's hermit-souls. 



The central fig-ure is the anchorite, 
Jerome, the man of God, the golden light 
That lit his day. 

His body almost nude. 
All-spent in fastings, pra3'ers, and solitude, 
And which the millions flock alone to see, 
Indeed's a marvel of anatomy. 
The saint, almost four-score of fruitful years, 
Supported by his friends, in prayerful tears. 
Receives his last Communion. 



Ah! what power 
Re-lig-hts those eyes in this their'closing- hour? 
Re-vivifies that dust-doomed, sinking- frame? 
Unlocks those jaw s to lisp one only Name - 
Of Jesus, Saviour? Pulses o'er ag-aiu 
The stilling- heart, and robs its throbs of pain? 
What g-enius medicates the soul in strife, 

{SO 



To take the Food of Ang-els, Bread of Life? 

What bring-s those angels down from heaven there? 

Why kneel the faithful friends in voiceless prayer? 

What mean the lighted candles? vested priest? 
The altar, and the Sacrificial Feast? 

'Tis all for God within the Sacred Host, 
Soul-food, - the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, - 
The way-worn, dying- pilg-rim's only Food, 
And Drink in earthly, desert solitude! 

The cherub-angels wing their way to earth, 
With tidings of the saint's own fame and worth, 
To cheer the coming end, the tarrying breath; 
To still, with love, the marbling frame in death; 
To hush the penitential cry; to close 
The God-lit eyes in endless, blest repose; 
To bear, as only angels can, his soul 
To heaven and to God, - his only goal. 

This picture, as I said, is grand to see: 
It is a wonder-masterpiece to me! 

bl 



Bit there's ;inother, painted years ag-o 
Upon my memVy's walls,! fain would show. 
But can not, for 'twas long- since borne away 
By Death and ang-els, one remembered day» 
And placed somewhere in heaven. 

Its story g-oes: 
One happy morning- at the sacred close 
Of Mass a woman whispered, 'mid her tears : 
"My father's dying! Haste! I have my fears 
He even now is dead! Come, father dear! 
And with your priestly powers my father cheer!" 



Be calm! I answered. May God's will be done! 

Your father is a saint, - his vict'ry's won! 

He was anointed yesterday you know, 

And is prepared unto his God to go. 

I'll bring- him now his last Communion. Pray! 

I'll hasten after you! I know the way. 



Then soon with Jesus guarded on m}^ breast. 
The same Whom Mary on her breast caressed. 



I lisped "O Salutaris" o'er and o'er, 
And walked alone with Him whom then I bore. 
Alone? Ah, no! For angels hovered 'round, 
With holiest homag-e on the air and g-round. 



The passing men and boys, - God bless them e'er - 
Doifed reverently their hats, and seemed in prayer; 
But not for me, - poor sinful me, - Ah no! 
For Him I bore I and Whom they honored so! 
The pious women, bless them, God, each day, 
In homag-e bowed, and then began to pray. 



The home at last was reached; and, surely, there 
Our Lord received a welcome. Bowed in prayer 
The household seemed transported to the sky. 

And there upon a bed, without a sig-h, 
A matchless fig-ure, lay my St. Jerome, 
So soon to enter his eternal home. 



It was a picture ang-els well might paint, 



But not a mortal man. My dear, old saint, - 
ril call him St. Jerome,- full eighty years, 
Perhaps, and more, of living* deeds and tears, 
Had summoned all his dying strength to make 
His last confession, and with angels take 
His last Communion. 



There so still he lay 
I feared his soul had winged to God its way, 
Until, as from a death-sleep, he awoke, 
And in sepulchral tones his message spoke; 



"Good priest of God, a thousand welcomes herel 
Come, let me kiss thy sacred hand! Do cheer 
My weeping dears! And help me make with God 
Eternal soul-peace, then beneath the sod 
Cast this my worthless corpse!" 



Forth from the room 
All went, e'en angels, and in loneliest gloom 
I tabernacled on the altar there 

S4- 



Our Eucharist Jesus, knelt in prayer, 
And heard the saint's last story 



Then returned 
The vigil-keeping" circle; candles burned 
As on some golden, grand, cathedral shrine: 
All eyes were guardian-lamps of light divine; 
With love their censers, prayer their living fires, 
All incensed o'er and o'er their God; while choirs 
Of angels laddered heaven and earih to aid 
The old man to ascend. 



Grim death delayed; 
The saint received his last Communion, sighed 
His last farewell to earth, and dears beside 
His bed of death. 



And I, 1 prayed his God, 

Whom he had just received, to spare the rod 
Of purgatorial chastisements, to be, 
Indeed, his Saviour, grant his soul to see 

S5 



Kternal rest. 



And then in prayer we knelt, 
And death's unwelcomed, tyrant presence felt, 
And saw him shroud, with stilling hand, that bed! - 

Then stillness! stillness! — St. Jerome was dead I 



m 



POST PECCATUM ANIMA. 



A soul after committing- a mortal sin in meditation. 

"Father, forgive them for they know not 
what they do." — Luke, XXIII, 34. 



A stillness brooded o'er the restful world, 
As Peace had closed the eyes in blessed sleep, 
For 'twas the height of nig-ht. Sweet Peace had kissed 
All souls to sleep? Ah, no! How many tongues 
Had cried, "Oh Peace!" and yet, no peace was there. 
For time of healing they had sought the night 
And had beheld but fear, for they were signed 
Of sinful kindred. 



Of this multitude 
A youthful figure tossed upon a bed 
Of soulful pain; and as he thought and stared 
A gnawing worm was preying on his soul. 
For he had eaten of the food of Sin, 
And found it bitter. Anguish seized his soul; 



And thoug-h it fettered him with heav}^ chains 
Of Meditation, in his fright he rose 
In unknown, manly strength, and into words 
His uncontrolled emotions formed : 



^'Oh God! 
Is death within me? House I now the fiends 
That seek immortal prey? and mate with fire 
Eternal imag^e of a kindly God? 
Ah! can my soul pavilioned lie in li^ht 
Auroral from eternal pool of fire? 

Oh God, 'tis true! My soul forg-ot herself, — 

Her God, eternal destiny for sin! 

For mess of pottag-e hath her birthrig-ht sold 

To serve as hireling- to a Devil-king-. 

But, God of mercy, love, it shall not be, 

For I am thine, and only thine shall be! 

Ye fiends of darkness, brood of hell, away! 

Away to tormentsi Now I see the g-uilt 

Of mortal sin. I see thee Mortal Sin! 

I realize why (iod despises thee; 

And why He died U])on His bloody cross. 



And crushed thy serpent-head that we might live. 

How canst thou hide thy leprous, festering form? 

How darest ttiou to never cry, "unclean"? 

Thou art a vampire, sucking life from souls: 

A parasite upon the tree of life! 

Thou art a siren-hag who welcomes, but — 

To hell's wild, living death. At forge of Pride 

Thou mouldest arms satanic to conflict 

With the archangel host! Thou art the witch 

That stagnates hearts, prescribes them green, 

Unfoodful, poisoned weeds, and venom thoughts: 

Untenants souls, immortal souls, of God. 

And, screening well thy gallery, adorned 

With living pictures of the wormy, stenched, 

And narrow grave of low ambition, wild 

And fiendish forms of lustful, sated limbs. 

Of realm where dieth not the worm, and fire 

Is not extinguished; e'er thou uursest them 

To darkest miserv. 



Oh God, I see 
The fiends I've served, and what their wages arc 
Damnation, and eternal pool of fire! 



I see as in a glass, what I have missed — 
Eternity of bliss. Above them all 
I see how good, how kind, how merciful. 
Thou Jesus, art to me. 



O spare Thy child 
Thy prodigal who now returns to Thee 
With heartfelt sorrow! I detest my sins 
As Thou hast done! Oh never, shall I taste 
Again the bitterness, the husks of Sin, 
Nor e'er renew my fellowship with pain !*' 



C L I FT Y . 



An abode of enchanting streams, Tarpeian rocks, 
and soul-stirring- solitudes, situated two miles east of 
Columbus, Indiana. 



With twilig-ht Time had linked the night and morn; 
And Nature smiled. And, restless from the night 
So dark and starless, like the babe new-born 
Into a darkened world, athirst for light 
I bared my head to airs that toyed in flight, 
And gained my cloistral shrine of infant thought, 
The Heights of Clifty, where I solace sought. 



Devoutly there I paid my matin prayer, 
And watched the sun in majesty appear. 
Enrobed in bridled splendor, happy e'er 
In youthful vigor, and dispensing cheer. 
And vital light and heat, and far and near 
Awaking Nature's grand thanksgiving song, 
That daily she and grateful men prolong. 



Arouud I saw the tiller of the soil, 
That shows the curse of paradise of old, 
Iq primal mandate bent in blessed toil 
Unto the plow; he lord, with crown untold. 
Whose hand unlocks, with Labor's key of g"old, 
The honey-comb of nature, strikes the rock 
Of living- waters, whither king^s must flock. 



Below me stood the beasts and birds beside 
A sleeping- stream on which a mirror lay, 
Wherein might Beauty's fairest in her pride 
Unnoticed g"aze, and doubting- drive away 
With amorous touch, and then would will to stay; 
Therein would loug- her form and face admire, 
Her g-race and beauty that a love inspire; 



Her flowing- hair, wherein a lover's hand 

In love's caress had sportive played, arrange; 

Ketint her cheeks with morning-'s splendor grand; 

The vision of her matchless eyes estrange; 

Upon her virg-in lips effect a chang-e 

To breathing- smiles, attune her restless soul 

To segments of a love's harmonious whole. 



Ami then I westward cast my auxious gaze 

Upon the city of my birth, and where 

I lay in lap of care in golden days. 

And dreamed Ambition's dream. Ambition fair { 

Are blessings yours a cheat? Are smiles you wear? 

Your mirror true that witches so the eyes? 

I'll ask the staid, old sage between his sighs ' 



The hand of time lent sweetness to my reign 

Of thoughts until the toilful breath from strife, 

And manifold endeavor curbed my train 

Of musing; and I saw the flow of life, 

The little drama e'er in action rife; 

Each one fulfilling part his will preferred, - 

Bv lusts of vice or sweets of virtue stirred. 



I saw the form erect, in power complete, 
With upward gaze, and moulded to the air 
That ev'ry move proclaimed a rule so sweet 
Of spirit over flesh in kingdom fair; 
And spoke of thoughts that tenant only there, 
And keep as vestal souls their beacon towers 
Aglow for lost and those in stormy powers. 



I saw the simulating- brood of sin, 

Of whom 'twas said: "As you are neither cold 

Nor hot, to vomit you I will begin." 

The ])hantom kingdom of a hellish mould, 

Where Goodness, Evil equal power hold. 

Can Day and Night be one? together reig-n? 

Ah, not within Identity's domain 1 

I saw the shrunken, sickly forms that sate, 

Amid the writing on the festal wall, 

Their appetites: whose actions but relate 

The common tale uf outraged limbs, of fall 

Of the immortal soul unto a thrall, 

So stagnated, wherein no thoughts expand 

The God-like heart to God-like self-command. 



I saw the mart of money where a soul 

Is slave to lifeless gold, and plays its game, 

That barters flesh and kingly WILL, - the whole 

Of usufruct to man for rank or shame. 

The slave's to serve, not rule his lord. The same 

Of g-old must be. As slave 'tis true and just; 

As lord, despotic, with satanic trust. 



I saw the wiuj^fed steed that Death employs 
Upon his course of ruin, whipped to great, 
And greater speed by lower nature's toys - 
Impurity and Drunkenness, — whose state 
Is lower than the brutes I Is man the mate 
To Joy or Torment? But the answer lies 
Within the will of each one w^hen he dies. 



And then abashed I fell at Nature's feet; 
And motherly she kissed away my pain, 
And from a volume read me poems sweet. 
About the harmony within her reign; 
How ALL her things their destined end obtain, 
As ladders serve to gain for man his end: 
How often man thereon will not ascend. 



And thus enchanted by her voice sublime 

I knelt until akram-bell within 

Awoke my spell, and told of Duty's time. 

And soon I gained great Labor's fruitful din, 

Resolved, with flock I shepherd, to begin 

Ascent on ladder Jacob saw of old, - 

The one whose story Nature me had told. 



MY "WEEPING PETER." 



"And Peter going out, wept bitterly." 
- Luke,XXII, 62. 



Were I a painter, genuised in the art 

To speak on canvas and unload my heart 

Pd paint a picture, — Peter penitent, 

Beclad in ashes, bathed in tears, bespent 

With heaviest anguish. And my pride Pd call 

My "WEEPING PETER". — Peter mourns his fall. 



I'd paint the furrows in his deathlike face, 
I'd dig them deep so all their source can trace; 
Pd have his eyes a nameless look to wear, 
I'd have his arms fatigued with gestured prayer: 
Pd crown him king of all the sons of grief, - 
My "Weeping Peter", - once of sinners chief ! 



I'd have the canvas drop his scaldinjjf tears, 
The winds to bear his g-roans, to tell of fears; 
I'd have the caves to show the sleepless nights, 
The prayerful, hung-er-g-nawing- days, the sig-hts 
That startle men and beasts and birds, that show 
My "Weeping- Peter" in his nameless woe. 



I'd have the cock to crow, and crow ag-ain. 

With ev'ry crow a new-born, killing- pain; 

I'd have the maid to whom he swore his lie 

To jeer, and drown his penitential cry; 

The face of Jesus as to death He g-oes. 

To haunt, increase my "Weeping Peter's" woes. 



I'd have the trees to smile with fruits of gold. 
The plants and flowers their perfumes to unfold; 
I'd have the streams to sparkle waters clear. 
The vagrant stones as manna to appear; 
But, 'midst them all, I'd have my penitent. 
My "Weeping Peter", hungry, famished, spent. 



And yet, with all my tears, and work, and thought, 
With what defects my picture would be fraught \ 
For who can know poor Peter's contrite woe? 
What hand his matchless, bleeding- heart can show? 
But still, I'd paint my picture, and I'd say 
It's just my "Weeping Peter". "Watch and prayl" 



THE np:arest, dearest souls. 

Written after a visit to the Trappist Monastery 
at Gethsemane, Ky. 

If men could only see what I have seen,- 
The monks of holiest, penitential mien,- 
If they could hear what I have heard and felt, 
And witness howl marvelled, thought and knelt, 
O Lord, they'd surely be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Thee! 

If they could only read the welcome sign: — 
"For God alone! For Him your Lord and mine! 
I've seen the world, and things that are, and know 
They're vanities, and bring but pain and woe!" 
O Lord, they'd surely be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Thee ! 



They'd leave their body at the portal g-oal, 
Because within there's room for just the soul, 
To house companionless - with God alone - 
To work, to climb, to pray, to weep and moan; 
And, Lord, to surelv be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Theel 



If they could only feel tlie silence there, - 
Its fellowship with Gud, its heavenly air, 
And walk with saints within the silent walls, 
And sing- with ang-els in their choired stalls, 
O Lord, they'd surely be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Thee 1 



If they could only hear these angels pray. 
And see their bows, prostration^i, know the way 
They give their body, soul to God,, and sing 
Their "Salve Reg-ina" with Trappist ring-, 
O Lord, they'd surely be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Thee! 



If they could only spade their grave each day 
And meditate, — their body's home of clay; 
Their soul's eternal Ever, Never! e'er 
With fiends of hell, or with the angels where 
O Lord, they'll surely be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Thee! 



And thus the lesson; if we'd only heed, 
And imitate these monks of thought and deed,- 
To starve the body, but to feed the soul; 
To curb the beast, to give the soul control, 
And Lord, to try to be 
The nearest, dearest souls to Theej 



FAME, 

The breath iuhaledl 

From tong-uiog-s of mendacious souls; 

The breath inhaled! 
By man consumptive, an^ assailed, 
And mocked by Death. The phantom g^oals, — 
The whole of mundane, niggard tolls; 

The breath inhaledl 



O, WHAT WILL THE LAST PICTURE BE? 



I took up a j)hoto of school days, - 

The golden without an allo}', - 
And I smiled, and I wept at the faces 

I cherished and loved as a boy. 
But O, what a change in those faces! 

What heart-transformations, too true! 
From the pure, little school-mates we planned for, 

And dreamed of the g-ood they would do. 

There's Willie we thought so angelic, - 

He lies now within prison walls: 
And there's^Mary the genius, the beauty, - 

God pity her life, and her falls! 
There's Catherine, and Lizzie, and Thomas, - 
Those names how the}' flash back to-night! 
Some are dead; and, thank God, some are living 
The lives that arc fruitful and right. 



Ah, truly. Time's task is to measure 

The chang-es we all underg-o 
la this world's panoramic, swift shiftings, 

Its fast-speeding- pleasures and woe. 
And, thinking- of chang-es to come yet, 

As Time nears Eternity's sea, 
With my thoughts and my tears came the question, 

O, what will the last picture be? 



When life's pilgrim years have been ended, 

And g-athered tog^ether are we. 
To be judg-ed for each thoug-ht and action, - 

O, what will that last picture be? 
l^erhaps, there'll be chang-es e'en g-reater 

In us who remain. Time shall see. 
Where, O where, is the prophet to answer, - 

O, what shall that last picture be? 



In Kome there's a fresco "The Judg-ment", - 
The last, at the end of the world. 

There is Jesus, the Judg-c, with the blessed, - 
The lost souls, down, hellward, all hurled. 




In Rome there's a fresco "The Jiidg-ment",- 
The last, at the end of the world. 

There is Jesus, the Judg-e, with the blessed, - 
The lo?t souls, down, hellward, all hurled. 



And we shall be all in that picture'. - 

God said it, - at earth's awful close. 
In the echoes, - list! back steals the question, - 
Whose answer Our Jud^e onl}^ knows! 



A VICTOR. 



As wrestled Jacob well, 
Until the ang-el fell 
With shrunken sinew and celestial gleatn; 
The poet doth assail 
His Muse; nor doth he fail 
Till she asperges him from her Parnassian stream. 



A SONG OF OLD SING SING. 

[ Sing Siug-, the famous prison in New York. ] 

I've a little song" to sinj^- for those who run the fatal 
pace: 
I will sing- of old Sing- Sing-! 
The time may yet remain to stop, and use the days 
of grace: 
I will sing of old Sing- Sing 1 
The walls re-echo liberty can not be fostered there; 
The slavish exile, manhood wrecked, the sadness 

ev'ry where: 
And the fettered human limbs that fight so hard 
ag-ainst despair: 
I will sing of old Sing Sing! 



Yes, for you poor fools who have what 3 ou would 
call a jolly time: 
I will sing- of old Sing- Sing- ! 
For you who livx' in haunts of sin, and crowd the 
dens of crime: 
I will sing of old Sing SingI 
For you who sate your appetites, outrage immortal 

soul; 
For you poor, sickly puppets of the world's mag-- 

uetic g-(>al; 
I will sing- my little song- before you pass into control 
Of another old Sing Sing! 



SONG OF A LOVl^R. 



A lover, m\^ spirit's uneasy, 

Throbbing- to song's measured beat, 
And melodies start on the string^s of my heart. 

Attuned but to sounds that are sweet. 



But what is the song-'s precious burden? 

Whence are its words' rhythmic flow? 
Its cadence and rhyme so supernal, sublime? 

And whence doth it come, whither go? 

Ah! Love is its burden, its essence: 

Love is its messag^e divine ! 
To Him e'er it soars with the love-laden stores, 

To Love the blest Spouse that is mine! 



The Spouse I embrace at the Banquet 

Served but to lovers of Love. 
How sweet is His kiss, - soulful, ravishing bliss: 

Completed io union abovel 



O JesusI my Love and my Lover, 

Thine is the song- that I sing! 
For I am for Thee' and Thou, Love, art for me, 

Thy poor, lowl}', love-loving thing ! 



THE SEA! 

The sea ! the sea ! how it witches me 
With its laughing, sportive deep; 

With its siren strains, and its stifled pains; 
With its bones in dustless sleep. 



The sea ! the sea ! how it humbles me 

With its boundless, tyrant power; 
IIow it mocks my powers, and my life's short hours; 

How it loves lo jeer and fri-^'^ht. 



The sea ! the sea ! how it startles me 
With its ceaseless, thur.d'ring cry; 

With its monsters wild, with its wreckag-e piled; 
With its waves towered mountain-hig-h. 



The sea I the sea ! how it speaks to me 
Of its God and mine above; 

How He rules its waves, and only saves, 
By His wisdom, mig-ht and love! 



A PRODIGAL. 



A fruitful season roved away, 

To spend its streng-th and store: 
It roved and spent both night and day, 

Until it had no more; 
And then unto itself it said : - 

"To Father I must return, 
Thoug-h g-reat is my sin, in my need of bread 

The hire of his slave I'll earn!" 



Old Father Time perceived it near, 

And kissed it and caressed. 
And lent to all new life and cheer, 

And thawed his wintry breast: 
Reclothed the days in mourning- rife, 

Revestured in beaut}^ each thing-; 
For that which was dead had returned to life, 

The new-born, returning- SPRING, 



MY FIRST COMMUNION OF LONG AGO. 

"I have tasted sweet pleasures," an old priest said, 
"In my four score of years that are past and dead; 
But the sweetest, my dears, "-and his head bowed low, 
"Was my First Communion of long- ag-o. 



"How I thrilled with the power of a new-born priest! 
How I've said daily Mass with the joys increased! 
How Tve had Duty's pay, -yes, but none thrilled so 
As my First Communion of lon<»- ago. 

"O the planning- and hopes for that happy time! 
The retreat and confession and grace sublime — 
Both the body and soul pure as mountain snow I 
For my First Communion of long ago. 



"And at last it did come, - really came all fair! 
Both the present and future in joy joined there. 
And we marched, - ready, yes, eVn to heaven to ^ol 
At my First Communion of long ago. 



"Dear old father and mother were there to take 
Of my chalice of sweetness, pray God to make 
Me a priest just as fair as the heavenly g-low 
Of my First Communion of long-ag-o. 



"How my ros'ry I prayed with my beaded tears, 
For my parents and pastor and many dears, 
That in death we would meet, g-rander joys to know 
Than at First Communion of long ago. 



"But the joy really came when dear Father said: 
'O behold, children dear, here the Living- Bread! 
Take and eat! Now it's yours!' And the tears did flow 
At my First Communion of long- ag-o. 



"Tlien dear Father spoke tearfully words of praise; 
Gave us food, strength, and joy, light for Life's 

dark ways — 
Gave us all we can have on this earth below, 
At my First Communion of long ago," 



THE STOKM. 



Satanic winds swept o'er the sea 

To rouse the peaceful deep: 
A mig:hty Boat rode peacefully - 

Her Master was asleep: 
And as the wavelets towered in might 

The sailors were sore afraid, 
And wakened the Master, who scorned their fright, 

The might of the tempest stayed. 



ORATIO CORDIS, 



With his disciples - thoughts of earth - he sped 
Unto the still Gethsemane of prayer; 

And, as they entered, to these friends he said:- 
"Stay here, while I to pray go over there," 



And afterwards he fain would ask their aid, 

But found them sleeping, for their eyes were dim. 

And, when he farther off had gone and prayed, 
Behold, an angel came with aid for him J 



MY A N G E L— F R I E N D . 



Written on the death of Willie Cudworth. 




Poor Willie's dead! My little friend, - 

Mv favorite antrel-bov. 
And «^one a\\a\ : to heaven I prajl 

Now parents" <^»Tandest joy. 



We miss him at the childish g-ames, — 
His voice, and laug-h, and fun; 
In school, at class, at Holy Mass, 
And when the chores are done. 

And O, it seems he still is here 

To serve my Mass once more: 

He's surely here, — with angels near, 
Come down to serve, adore. 

He's dead, yes, dead! My angel-friend, 

My Aloysian boy ! 
God called up there: we bow in prayer 

At Willie's angel joy. 



PLAY BALL 



Play ball, play ball, play ev'ry ball, - 
Base, basket, foot, and all ! 

A boy is not a boy, no sir ! 

Unless be plays some ball. 

Don't be a sissy, sickly sig-ht. 

Get out and run and romp and fight. 
Play ball ! 



Play ball, it makes our muscles strong-: 
It builds us men of nerve: 

It opens up our boundless minds 
To learn, and do, and serve. 

Come join these happy, playing- boys I 

Partake of all their blessed joys! 
Play ball ! 



A LITTLE ALTAR BOY. 

I'm just a little boy, but oo ! 

I serve at Mass each day ! 
I've learned about all I must do. 

And Latin I can say ! 

My mamma always watches me. 
And, truly, cries for joy; 

She feels so proud,- as all can see - 
Of me her altar bov. 

Yes, mamma calls me little priest, 
And papa says 'tis true - 

They talk and make me think, at least, 
I oug-ht to say Mass too! 

But that's an awful holy thing-,- 
For priests, for Father dear, 

The Lord's anointed sent to bring- 
Us blessing's, hope and cheer. 



I watch him so that all I'll see, 

Because, perhaps, some day,- 

Some happy day - a priest I'll be. 
And preach, and Masses say! 

1 kaow that all the g-irls and boys 

Just watch and envy me; 
But that's what g-ives me g-reatest joys = 

And fills my heart with glee! 



And older folks, yes, watch me too ! 

And say I help them pray, 
And move around as angels do; 

I am so cute they say. 



When just a bab^ I50W I'd look 

And think the whole thing- fine - ,. 

The cassock, surplice, g-reat big" book, 
And bell, and lights, that shine. 

And wished to know what could be seen 
Inside that little door, 



And what that holy smoke could mean, 
Was puzzled more and more. 



But now I think I know it well, 
For Sister learned us boys, 

And Father such sweet tales would tell 
About the servers' joys. 

He said that angels from above 
Come down to help us serve, 

And pra}', and sing-, and Jesus love, 
And al'l His g-ifts deserve. 

And that, if we were only g'ood, 

When death should come some day. 

We'd serve in heaven, - yes, we would! 
As ang-els sing- and pray ! 

So now, as when a baby boy, 
I thijak how g-rand 'twill be 

To serve in heaven, what a joy 
For altar boys like me ! 



HAPPY LAND. 



"O, I know why it's so", said an old priest low, 

"That I'm sad, yes, and almost ill: 
Vacation is here, and the children's g-low 

No more will my poor heart fill. 
No more will I drink in the li^ht from their eyes; 

Nor partake of their pleasures grand; 
Nor list to their music and words so wise. 

In the children's own happy land. 



"How they cheer and endear, all those voices gay 

Of the children so free and pure! 
No matter what weather, or what the day, 

They off to their land allure. 
They lead us from sorrow, from care and from pain, 
With a pure and untrammelled hand 

To paradise, yes sir, where pleasures reign, - 
To the children's sweet, happy land. 



"O, just g-aze at their plays! how their voices ring- 

With their childish and soulful fun! 
And list to the laug-hter and song-s they sing-, 

And babble and romping done! 
Just taste of their sunshine and flowers and sweets; 

With philosophers truest stand: 
And know' of the treasures one always meets 

In the children's g-reat, happy land. 

''And what would, and what could this great world 
e'er be 

If bereft of the children dear? — 
A fire-sanded desert, a saltless sea, 

With no kiss for life's sad tear. 
We'll do without honor and fame and their joys. 

Without riches, - all they command; 
But must have our dearest - our girls and boys. 

And our children's dear, happy land. 



''And it's this that I rniss since our school is out. 
And I'm sorry it had to close. 

But say I am old! that I'm childish shout ! 



I care not who hears or knows! 
I ever will love them, their plays and their cheers, 

As the Saviour once did their band, 
And fondled, and blessed them,- the dearest dears 

For of such is the heavenl}^ land." 



THE "DE PROFUNDIS" BELL. 



O, what mystic themes are echoed by the tinkling- 

of that bell! 
Of angelic choirs rejoicinj^ e'en its dying- echoes tell! 
Some g^rand power or sweet enchantment with its 

intonation steals: 
And our prayers pleasing- perfume for the suffVing- 

souls appeals. 



MY BOUgUET. 

Written on being- presented by the school children 
with a bouquet of violets. 

Ah I flowers for my hermita^el 

My dears, 'tis very kind! 
How sweet and pure: how they allure! 

Just like your heart and mind ! 



These violets you've culled for me, 
Perhaps from fields unknown; 

And bound with love I prize above 
Earth's brightest gold and stone. 



From hidden fields,- in these, my dears, 
You'll find the sweetest, best, 

The fairest flowers, the richest dowers, 
The realm of peace and rest. 



And now you are within those fields, 
As flowers sweet and dear; 

'Mid holiest airs, with fewest cares, - 
To bless and smile and cheer. 



Some day you'll be transplanted far. 

From fields to busy mart; 
And God but knows your joys and woes, 

The future of your heart. 

And all the great b\^ world that sleeps 
Beyond your virgin years; 

Its battle-grounds, its siren sounds, 
Its ming^led shouts and tears. 



So, when transplanted, children dear, 

From golden fields afar. 
To grace some goal, to cheer some soul 

Adown in triple war, 



Alike these violets to-day 



Be humble, pure and gfood; 
Perfume the air with deeds and prayer; 
Then die as a^ng-els should! 



REMINISCENCE. 



I'll never forg-et. of the heart-aches borne, 

The first of my colleg-e days, — 
The days of true homesickness, fear and care; 

The days of such troubled ways. 
I still see the scene at the station door, 

The friends as I said^ood-by. 
The mother I kissed and the tears that fell, 

The farewell wave and sig-h. 



But one ray of light lit the cloudy sky - 
My father was still with me, 

And saw me enrolled with the college boys, 
And told me to happy be. 

But, truly, the blow that I felt the most 
At last was to see him go: 



Good-by, dear I was all that my lips could say 
From weig^ht of tears and woe. 



He saw my g-reat sorrow, and raised my head: 

"Go off," said he,"with the boys! 
Be one of themselves in the g-ames and fun I 

Partake of their healthful joys! 
They're laug-hing- and wondering why you weep 

O, don't let them see your tears! 
But g-o, be a happy and manly boy! 

And off with useless fears !" 



'Twas awful to see him g-o, - but I saw 

And feared all the boys around. 
So, soon I was sharing- in all their fun. 

And some little pleasure found 
Until it was time to retire to bed, 

To have a long-, heartfelt cry, 
And think of the dear, happy ones at home, 

In spirit there to fly. 



But finally sleep closed my tearful eyes; 



In dreams I was home ag-aiu, 
Until all arose when the Prefect called; 

And I with a look of pain. 
I thougfht it was all just a dream, - but no ! 

Professor and boys were there ! 
I was at the college, - at home no more, 

And trials now must bear. 



And thus passed the first of m}" college days, 

The days when I sig-hed for home. 
I saw there was no place like "home sweet home", 

No matter where we may roam! 
And then I resolved I would make a home 

Of colleg-e and all the boys: 
So that I could sing- of my new "sweet home"- 

Of colleg'e sig-hts and joys. 



A LETTER FROM MOTHER. 



I stood with a crowd of the colleg-e boys, 

Awaiting-, 'mid silence great, 
To hear all the mail, and to call for mine, 

For that was the stated date. 
The lot was just started when mine was read. 

So out from the throng- I ran; 
It was from my mother, - I knew her hand I 

What joyful news to scan ! 



"We know you are lonesome and homesick still: 

Dear boy, we are all the same! 
We miss you at morn, and at noon and nig-ht; 

We often God-bless your name ! 
And sweet little Marg-ie still cries for you 

To take her and g-o by-by. 
I tell her you'll come when old Santa comes, 

When Christmas snowflakes fly. 



"Old Shadows was here and he asked for you, 

And told me to send his best. 
Poor Tucker your dog- is so lonesome, dear. 

It Feems he can find no rest; 
He sits at the gfate, and looks down the street, 

And whines and then shakes his head; 
And sometimes he steals through the house as if 

He thoug-ht you sick in bed. 



"The chickens are g-rowing: I'll send you one 
To brighten Thanksgiving- Day. 

I put all your balls, and your tops and things 
Up stairs in a trunk away. 

I hope this will find you in health and joy, 
And to your dear mother true. 

I think this is all that I have to say. 

I close with a kiss for you." 



MY MOTHb:R KIND AND TRUE. 

When the g-olden orb of heaven slowly gains its 

western clime, 
And the bells of memVy tinkle, - O their sweet 

and hallowed chime! - 
Then my roving- fancy wanders to those days of 

happy yore 
That I spent at home in childhood. Would that 

they could come once more! 

How the firelight seems to glitter with that former 

cheerful glow, 
And in it are plainly mirrored happy scenes of long 

ago. 
Ah! I see my mother's features o'er me bending 

sweet and fair, 
And her uttered benediction lingers on the silent 

air. 



Now I see her maiden beauty, and her sweet, an- 

g-elic e3'es 
That so often gazed upon me lovingly and ever wise, 
And once more I feel the pressure of her hand so 

kind and free. 
Which a boy I oft did feel in humble prayer beside 

her knee. 



As in early days of childhood, and in sickness when 

1 lay, 
I can hear her gentle footstep, I can see her softly 

pray. 
Lol the scenes before me vanish like the joys that 

are no more; 
But the picture in my mem'ry is more vivid than 

before. 



RANDOM THOUGHTS. 



It is not the lenj^-th of a life ihat counts, 
But the deeds stored up above: 

It is not the gift that we value hi^^h, 
But the giver's heart of love. 



It is not the face of a maid that charms, 
But her heart pure, tried and true: 

It is not the strength of a man that leads, 
But the good that he may do. 



It is not the man who may say: "Lord, LordI" 
Who shall enter "Mansions fair." 

But the man who hath done the Father's will, 
He alone shall enter there. 




WITH THE CHRISTUS, ANTON LANG. 
OBERAMMERGAU, SEPT. 2,1910. 



WITH THE CHRISTUS, 



StaodiQfE^ with Anton, the Christus, 

In dear Oberammerg-au: 
At grandest of plays, from plague-stricken days, 

Fulfilling- an ancient vow. 

Standing with Anton, the Christus, 

Who modelled himself on his Lord • 

His face and his hair; his soul and his air • 
And told me it was not so hard. 



Standing with Anton, the Christus, - 
What lessons for vou and for mel 
To model our heart, our body - each part, 

On Christ. Alter Christus to be! 



Standing with Anton, the Christus : 

I pra}"- that you all, e'en as I, 
Will stand proudly more, when our passion's o'er. 

With Christ the true Christus on high. 



A BEGGAR-SOUL. 



He was a father, and they called him good: 
He cared for wife and family as he should: 
He took insurance on his home and life, 
To chase the wolf and g^uard against all strife, 



But he forgot, alas, the other world, 

That into it we surely must be hurled: 

Neglected to insure his soul for God, 

To care for times and wants beyond the sod. 



He died: they wept; but tears soon dry away: 
He left them wealthy for a passing day; 
And went a beggar-soul to Judge on high — 
And there we leave him, — there we say goodby ! 



A BLESSING. 
Written on the birth of a nephew. 

God bless the babe in his cradle, - 
Hig-h heaven's own g-ift all fair: 

The g-randest gift that a God can trust 
To a mother's true love and care! 



God bless the babe and his mother 
Who g-uards so the dear she bore! 

Who knows her duty, — and does it best! 

Thrice, O bless her ! — more like her, more! 



God bless the babe and his father, 
W.ho builds up a home with love, 

And sacrifices himself and gold 

For his dear ones, - and God above, 



God bless the babe in his cradle. 
And make him a man of God! 

A priest, a father, — whate'er Thou wilt ! 
But an ang-el beyond the sod ! 



THE LESSON. 



"Mamma!" cried a little girl in g^lee, 

While showing some tiny seeds, 
"O look, dear, what Father has given me. 

To plant and to watch their needs I 
He did not tell, but I know full well 

They'll blossom as flowers some day. 
How sweet 'twill be both for you and me 

To wreathe and to give away!" 



And then, in her girlish, anxious ways, 

She planted them all with care, 
And daily she watered and tended well. 

And centered a fond hope there: 
Until she knew, by the stalks that grew, 



For flowers she had sown some wheat: 
And then she sig^hed in her conquered pride, 
In her queenly WILL'S defeat. 



You're foolish, dear maiden, like all mankind ! 

You would have your will fulfilled: 
Would flowers select, and would scorn Life's food, 

And grumble in mind self-willed! 
Remember! Life ever has but strife: 

That Hope often brings but tears! 
That God's is the WILL that all must fulfill, 
With blessings of earth or jeers! 



THE L A B O K K R . 

"The laborer is worthy of his hire". — Luke, X,T 

A hirer styles us "Slaves for gold", 

"His tools with little right''; 
Some secret power he claims to hold 

To deal us out some mite, — 
Whate'er he judges coffered gains 

Can spare to gain him more; 
Whate'er some order, peace maintains, 

Whatever grows his store. 

Methinks he is in Truth unschooled, 

In use of "Slave" too free! 
We rather rule, and he is ruled; 

We hold his wealth's brig-ht key 1 
He must procure our strength and skill 

To fructify his gold; 
And this he shall not at his will: 

Our price we ever hold. 



We ha^e our rightsl God willed it so ! 

He set our blissful end: 
But to the end the means must g"o, 

And on it must attend! 
So, therefore, we've the right to live, 

And g-row in state of life, 
And to dependents succor g"ive, 

And lessen daily strifel 



Our hirer can not set our p?iy, 

Our end he can not chang-e; 
He can not take our means away. 

He can not such arrange! 
For God alone the end doth will, 

Doth know the means for each: 
'Tis He who g-ave our streng-th and skill; 

'Tis He their worth to teach I 



Our hirer we respect, - extol 
For industry and worth ! 

We look to him as means to goal 
Of duty on this earth ! 



But when he tramples on our ri^ht, 
With Reason's lamp we go, 

And leaves from code of Justice lig"ht, 
And him her morals show I 



RKOUIESCANT IN PACE. 



"It is a holy and a wholesome thought to pray fur 
thedead." — II Mach. Xll,40, 

They sleep! they sleepi our sainted dead nnd true, 

Within the dormitory of the dead; 
Alone and cold, and silent, lifeless too, - 

The yawning-, dark, devouring earth their bed! 



They sleep! they sleep! beneath the gaze of men: 
The marbled, wasting forms of men that were 

Too loathsome now for mortal touch and ken: 
And which to dust we prayerfully inter. 

They sleep! they sleep! in arms of mother earth, 
In very womb from which they came to die: 



To rot like seeds, and grow another birth, - 
Of demons low, or an^rcls of the sky. 



They sleep ! they sleep ! till Resurrection morn; 

When Gabriel's horn the dying- world shall rock 
And cite its dead - each human being born: 

The g-ood to bless, the demon forms to mock. 

They sleep ! they sleep ! And we shall also sleep - 
Be their companions in imperial dust; 

And be forgotten in sepulchral deep, 

Except by God, our loved and loving- Trust ! 

They sleep ! they sleep ! - their souls we know not 

where ! 
O passing- pilgrim, prayer can set them free i 
And list! their dreamful echoes haunt the air: — 
"To-day for me! to-morrow, friend, for thee!" 



OUR UNCROWNED HERO. 



Of course, ihere is no one like mother, 
That g-oe? without saying- they say: 

And yet there's another, one only other, - 
Dear Father: God bless him I pray ! 

The poets have canonized mother. 
But father forget, - so it seems. 

They flower her altar, - Ah, but they faher, 
Leave father unnamed, -just for dreams. 

Remember in days g-one forever 

How faithful dear father would work. 

For you and dear mother, sister and brother. 
And, truly, no duty would shirk? 

Remember in days of your childhood. 
When father was hero, you said: 



The g"ames that he taujjfht you, playthings he bought 
you, 
And stories he told you and read? 



Remember, when you lay in sickness, 

How father would kneel at your bed, 
And spared naught to save you, tried so to brave you, 

The prayers that In whispers he said? 



Remember, in old, childish triumphs. 
How father was there to add more; 

And cheered far more loudly, surely more proudly, 
Raised you above heroes of yore? 



Remember, the Christ-like example 

He gave you as you grew in years? 

His saintly devotions, God-stirred emotions, 
And often his moans and his tears? 



So, while there is no one like mother, 



Which g-oes without saying", they say: 
There's surely another, one only other, - 
Dear father: God bless him I pray! 



THE MAN WHO "DOES". 



O, sing me a song- of the man who "does" — 

The man whom we need to-day I 
But not of the slug-g-ard-knave who "will !" - 

The one of the doubtful "may". 
For thousands of "wills" ne'er made one jot, 

The smallest to mortal ken! 
A God only "wills", and all is done, — 

But we are not g^ods, but men. 

O, sing- me a song- of the man who ''does" — 
Who treasures each g-olden hour; 

But not of the pauper-fool who "will" 
By might of some secret power, 

Who rests now to "will" for to-morrow, 
And figure his life's dream-sum. 



But rest's for the dead; and well we know 
To-morrow may never come. 



Then sia^ me a song- of the man who "does" — 

The hero of tong^ue and pen; 
But not of the "Cursed souls, depart !" 

God, pity such worthless men ! 
Aye I sing- of the D0P:R, faithful, true - 

Of whom God will one day say: 
"Well done, thou good, faithful servant! Come! 

For heaven's the "doer's" pay!" 



MARE M O R T U U M . 



Lines written at the Dead Sea, Palestine. 



Well called the Dead Sea! "Dead", yes, rig-htly named* 

Thou wondrous water, time hath justly famed I 

I saw thee oft in faded dreams of yore: 

And now I see thee truly, — walk thy shore! 

Thy namesake, Death, indeed, is monarch here, 

Without a flower, a bird, a sound to cheer! 

I view the dead thy waves have washed ashore: 

I taste thy salt, abhor thy gall, and more, — 

I learn new lessons for the other life, 

To sweeten all within this world of strife! 



COMRADES. 



Two loyal, old friends to each other true, 
Two comrade, young- soldiers in Union blue, 
On eve of a battle, when souls are tried. 
Made promises mutual in case one died. 

»By heaven above, with the battle o'er, 
They'd leave their companions, the dead explore, 
And find if the other had passed awa3^ 
Then lay him in peace in a grave of clay. 

This sig-nal agreed would the sad tale tell 

If either a-dying- or wounded fell : 

A ribbon all spoiless, with knot untold. 

As crown would the forehead of each enfold. 

The battle of blood raged in fiercest might. 
The Federal soldiers were put to flight. 



And one of the friends fell amongst the dead: 
His spotless, dread ribbon a bloody red. 



At sunset his friend took a spade and gained, 
Unarmed the red field where the Rebels reigned, 
Pursued by some comrades resolved to take 

His life, — and at last sweet revenge to slake. 



The Rebels perceived, from the hills above, 
The faithful, lone comrade on deed of love; 
They saw, too, the enemies, laid them low. 
And welcomed the other his way to go. 

The comrade at last found his friend so dear. 
And digging his grave, paused to wipe a tear: 
And as he was filling he paused again, 
And thought, sure, his poor heart would break 
with pain. 

And when he had finished with care the mound. 
Upon it some wild flowers he sweetly bound, 



And Rebels aad angels, — all joined the prayer 
He said for the comrade he buried there. 



IN M E M O R I A M . 



Edwina, O blessed an)o;-el, 

In thy home beyond the skies, 

On thy friends and loving- parents 
Cast those sweet, angelic eyesi 

Thou wert mother's pride and angel: 
Death for thee could have no sting 

When God said: "Come to me, darlingi 
Seraphim thy virtues singi" 

Weep not, mother, she's most happy! 

Would that we could be there too! 
She will welcome us to heaven 

When our earthly journey's through! 



AU F IN E M . 



November finds the earth a Rachel now, — 

Bereaved of vernal g-reeu, her children dear, — 
Bemoaning- all her dead with icy tear, 
And ashen, mournful brow. 



Her slain of autumn shroud sepulchral ground: 
To monarch death she tearful homage yields: 
Her fruitless, naked woods, and barren fields, 
All rest in sleep profound. 



The breezes wander 'mid the dead and sigh, 
Intone Adamic doom we all must learn: — 
"O living dust! to dust thou must return, 
For ev'ry thing- must diel" 



DEC 22 1911 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



DEC J3 i3<» 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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